


The Sorting

by writingAmateur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Sorting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingAmateur/pseuds/writingAmateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gryffindor!!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sorting

“Sirius Black,” a stern voice called out, echoing across the now silent great hall. Sirius, a small first year, walked up to the stage with the false confidence that only a rich pureblood could exude. He hid the terror bubbling under his skin, pricking at his heart as he approached the sorting hat with his back ramrod straight, sliding gracefully from step to step.

From the moment Sirius had received his entrance letter to Hogwarts, he had known he did not want to be in Slytherin. But what other house to go into? Ravenclaw was a bust—Sirius couldn’t stare at a book for more than five minutes before he wanted to bash his brains in. Hufflepuff? It felt rather lame to him. Besides, his loyalties were clearly muddled. Gryffindor? His heart stuttered at the thought. Sirius knew to go to Gryffindor would be to be disowned. He would be burned from the tapestry and sent out with more than a few cutting remarks—and if his father were there, actual cuts.

Sirius was half way across the stage now, his footsteps carrying him closer to his fate.

He thought back to the night before he left for the Hogwarts Express—he had sneaked across the hall to Reg’s room. Regulus was asleep, but Sirius woke him quickly enough to tell him his worries. Regulus was Sirius’s only confidant in the house he unwillingly called home. Regulus’s eyes had become the size of plates as Sirius spoke.

“You don’t want to be in Slytherin? Mum would kill you if you weren’t, though!” he said urgently, as though Sirius hadn’t thought of this already. Sirius gave him a sardonic look, waiting for him to get it.

“Right. You know that,” Reg said, shaking his head. He looked away. “If you don’t want to be in Slytherin… what if it puts you somewhere else just ‘cause it knows you don’t want to be in Slytherin? And you can’t help it anyway?”

Sirius hadn’t thought of that. What if he got stuck in Gryffindor even if he decided to stay the family course and be a good Slytherin? “D’you think it works that way?” Sirius asked in a hushed tone.

“I dunno. Maybe… Maybe if you just asked the hat to put you in Slytherin—you know, just so mum’d be happy,” Regulus suggested.

Sirius sat down on the stool, and Professor McGonagall lowered the hat onto his head. It was a peculiar thing, the hat sliding down over his ears. It blocked out any and all noise at once.

“Hmmm… Sirius Black, eh?” a voice murmured in his ear. “My, my, I’ve never seen so much conflict in someone’s head before. You could, you know. I _do_ take your vote into account.”

Somehow, this didn’t relax Sirius. He felt an inescapable wave of horror as he considered being in Slytherin with his cousins for seven long years. Sirius cast a panicked glance around the hall, his eyes landing on the table of red and gold.

The words of a boy with round glasses and messy black hair swam into mind. “Honestly, if I don’t end up in Gryffindor I might as well just leave. It’s the only house worth being in—the best, if you ask me.”

_I_ could _join Gryffindor. I could ask to be a Gryffindor. At least then I could justify my hate for my family—Slytherins and Gryffindors are rivals._

“I will not say you are wrong. They are rivals—but a Gryffindor is brave enough to realize the difference between rivals and enemies, between respect and fear. Are you that brave, Sirius Black?”

Sirius felt a wave of indignant defiance. He was Sirius Black! He wasn’t afraid of anything, let alone his silly old family. He could do whatever he wanted.

And he wanted to be a Gryffindor.

“… If you’re sure then,” the voice said softly, almost regretfully.

**“Gryffindor!!”**

 

 

“Remus Lupin!” Professor McGonagall called out. Remus stood in the line of first years, nervously picking at his severely secondhand robes. It felt like a practical joke to the young werewolf. He kept waiting for someone, anyone, to go ‘PSYCH’ and tell him this was all a trap to get him arrested by the ministry for lycanthropy.

The word ‘paranoid’ danced through his brain. He ignored it, stepping out of line and walking towards the stage. He made awkward eye contact with James Potter, a boy with messy black hair he had met on the train, who gave him a wide grin and a double thumbs up. He only managed a meek smile in return.

 Remus had only ended up in James, Sirius and Peter’s carriage towards the end of the train ride, as he had been awkwardly roaming the train for an empty compartment after being forcibly evicted from his own by a gaggle of seventh years. After his tenth pass, James took pity on him and leaned out the door.

“Need a seat, mate? We’ve only got three in this one.”

Remus had taken it gratefully enough, and the three seemed perfectly content to chatter at each other while he sat back and listened. It suited him well enough. As Remus crossed the stage, he realized he’d given no thought to what house he should be in. He had been so caught up in _being_ here, he hadn’t considered the _staying_ here.

Remus bit into his lip, trying to hide his worry. He glanced into the kind but stern eyes of McGonagall just before she set the hat on his head. The hat slid almost clear to his shoulders, it was so large. He pushed it up slightly, frowning.

“Remus Lupin… Ah, yes. The werewolf. Keen mind for a wolf, I’d say. Very keen. Ravenclaw might do you good. Oh, I see a fair bit of loyalty, too. Not bad in the cunning department, either… No, Slytherin is far too… No, definitely not. What’s this? A nice streak of bravery, I see…”

Remus supposed Ravenclaw wouldn’t be bad. He did like reading and learning. He felt a small stab, though. James had been adamant about Gryffindor. Remus could see himself decked in red and gold. He ached to be brave, perhaps not in the brash way that James was, but in subtler ways. But, he supposed, he couldn’t be what he wasn’t, and Remus Lupin was _not_ brave.

“Ah, but you _are_ brave. How many of your kind would show up to a school like this?” the hat murmured. “Yes, I see it now.”

Remus felt a swooping sensation. “You see what?” he asked in a slightly panicked murmur.

“Gryffindor. Definitely. You will flourish with others to bring out your bravery, Remus Lupin. I ask you to trust me on this,” it said, its voice so certain Remus couldn’t think to deny it before the wide slit above the brim opened and shouted to the masses.

**“Gryffindor!!”**

 

 

“Peter Pettigrew,” the stern-looking woman listed off, her voice getting just a touch bored as she neared the end of the very long list. Peter jumped, looking at her in alarm.

Peter couldn’t help it: he froze. He was fairly sure he had never had muscles to begin with. What was movement? How did people do it? Weren’t legs supposed to do something when you wanted to walk?

It was only with a fairly hard nudge from James, who stood behind him, that he finally remembered how to move. More accurately, how to fall out of line. He staggered away, flailing for a moment before he regained his balance.

Peter’s face burned as he walked quickly to the stage, ignoring the laughter that petered out behind him as he hurried up the steps and over to the stern lady, pausing uncertainly. She lifted the hat and gestured him to the stool. He sat down and scrunched up his face in concentration as the fabric lowered onto his head.

_Gryffindor. Put me in Gryffindor._

_GryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindor!_

Of this, Peter was certain. He practically screamed the chant in his mind. He wanted to be brave and strong and loyal and a warrior like a true Gryffindor. He wanted to be in the same house as his new friends, Sirius and now Remus and soon, very soon, in fact, James.

“I get it! I get it!” the hat cried in his ear. “You want to be in Gryffindor. _Why_ do you want to be in Gryffindor, Peter? A house title won’t make you brave. You must already be brave, in some way. You must discover how you are brave. I think you would do far better in another house—Hufflepuff, for example. You have much potential for loyalty.”

_GryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindor…_

It was the longest sorting of the feast. It went on for almost seven minutes, with little blonde Peter Pettigrew sitting on the stool with his face scrunched up, the hat swaying as it tried to decide what should be done. Both ignored the titters and small conversation that broke out among the tables, the jokes that if he didn’t get picked for something soon he would pop a blood vessel or have an aneurysm.

Quite suddenly, the hat’s mouth opened. “Fine!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peter Pettigrew,” the voice said.

_GryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindorGryffindor--_

**“Gryffindor!!”**

**  
**

“James Potter.”

James Potter never had a doubt in his mind. He was a Gryffindor. He was brave, loyal, strong and honorable. He was everything Godric Gryffindor stood for.

Looking back on it, he might have been arrogant about it. Overzealous, maybe, but he knew where he belonged. He was already picturing himself decked in red and gold, maybe even whizzing around on a broomstick as a quidditch player. He had always wanted to be a seeker. Maybe a chaser.

When his name was called, James strutted from the small line of remaining first years, strolling to the chair with an easy stroll that was almost impossible to imitate. He dropped easily onto the stool, nodding to McGonagall. She gave him a thin-lipped frown before setting the hat on his head.

While Peter Pettigrew had the longest sorting of the feast, James Potter had the shortest. The hat had barely brushed his messy black locks when the hat’s mouth opened and shouted to the hall.

**"Gryffindor!!"**

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love marauders.  
> If you'd like to contact me, drop a comment or send me an ask at lylarica.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
